I used to dream but now I get up four or five times a night.  To pee.  Not because of my fist.Anywhere from one to twenty four.  And as I prepare to get up, to begin to unfurl the covers, I have to clench and unclench my fist  to get it to work. And i think, what would happen if I just put down the straw?

I have all sorts of medicine.

Though sometimes I am asleep on it. Sometimes I am. But most of the time it is laying flat next to me. What do I do with my time? Walk for hours. Hours. Thinking. There are great moments of collapsing on the bench. Tears. Public displays of thoughts.I pet dogs. I talk to the dogs and their owners. Things are better now. People let you pet their dogs again.

I just write little notes in my phone.

I spend some days mulling over whether I Love You was enough.

These are the repetitions I tell him, and then
the private  replaying of some events:
his head lifting as I walked out,
sudden and hurriedly towards  him,
noticing the stream of
blood on his face
and all around him.

I replay it. 


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